


Nurse Me

by foxybadger42



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxybadger42/pseuds/foxybadger42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nurse Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours. </p><p>Greg gets in a fight during a case and Mycroft patches him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nurse Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MystradeSexyTimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystradeSexyTimes/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This story is mine. G. Lestrade belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Kitty Riley to the BBC. No profits are being made. Written just for fun.

‘Ouch,’ Greg whimpered as the disinfectant stung the wound over his left brow. He closed his left eye, bit his lips and hummed with discomfort.

‘Oh, stop complaining, this will only take a minute,’ Mycroft said as he continued to press the cotton ball over Greg’s wound, making sure all dirt was removed and the gash was disinfected. 

‘I wish you wouldn’t make such a fuss about it,’ Greg complained as he pushed Mycroft’s head away from his face. 

‘I wish you would be more careful.’

‘It’s just a cut.’

‘And that is just a tiny bruise, isn’t it?’ Mycroft said, pointing at Greg’s ribs.

Greg sat on the edge of the bathtub, shirt unbuttoned, bleeding from a gash over his brow. His sides were purple from bruising, the knuckles on his right hand scuffed and his index finger bruised from where he had punched the culprit before wrestling him to the ground, slapping cuffs around the man’s wrists. But both men not getting away without injuries.

‘Part of the job, isn’t it?’ he said as he raised the bag compress Mycroft had made him, pushing it against the left side of his face. He’d had quite a hard punch against his periorbital, and a dark ring was already forming underneath his eye.

‘Hmm,’ Mycroft hummed as he threw the cotton ball away and screwed the top of the bottle of disinfectant back on. He had taken his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves to prevent any blood from staining his silk shirt. There was staff who could do this for him, but he saw the opportunity to lecture Greg in private about his recklessness. ‘My job involves controlling unruly MPs yet you don’t see me riding into Parliament on the back of a donkey, do you.’

‘I’d love to see that, though,’ Greg chuckled but ceased at once as his ribs started to hurt.

‘Let’s save that for your imagination,’ Mycroft added as he rummaged through the first-aid kit that laid on the closed toilet lit. ‘What I’m saying is that your job doesn’t demand you to me heroic,’ he continued as he cut two plasters into the right size for the cut.

‘I wasn’t being heroic – he punched first. And pulled Donovan’s hair.’

‘How chivalrous of you.’

‘It’s not chivalrous – it’s what a friend would do.’

‘Your friend should agree that you shouldn’t put your own safety before theirs. And, she should know that your face is too pretty to look black and blue. After all, she gets to look at it most part of the day.’

‘You jealous?’ 

‘Not remotely. Just concerned, Gregory,’ he continued as he stepped back to look at plasters on Greg’s forehead, making sure they were covering the cut well enough for it to heal again. His eyes then met Greg’s, and saw the man was smiling at him with that ridiculous crooked grin of his. 

‘What?’ 

Greg just smiled wider and shook his head.

‘Nothing.’ 

‘Is it so strange that I feel concerned about you? You drive around this city like a maniac, come face to face with the most notorious criminals, and you consume a ridiculous amount of Danish pastries.’

Greg snorted, placing the bag of ice down on the side of the tub.

‘I’m glad they don’t allow you to carry fire-arms. I’d hate to imagine you waving around a gun.’

‘I know how to handle a gun, Mycroft.’ 

‘But it’s a good thing you don’t – less chance the other party has one as well, hmm? You’re not very dangerous, after all.’

Greg scoffed and shook his head, never understanding why Mycroft felt the need to scold him. It was playful banter of course; Mycroft was particularly good at that.

Greg licked his lips, Mycroft smiling down at him when he reached for the other man, pinching the fabric of the man’s tailor-made trousers and tucking him towards him. He spread his legs, forcing Mycroft closer to him.

‘You’re going to ruin my clothes,’ Mycroft warned him, resisting the pull a bit.

‘Don’t care,’ Greg murmured and wrapped his arms around the man’s thighs to force him closer. He rested the side of his head against his stomach, but made sure it was the clean side of his face and not the one where the gash was. He knew Mycroft cared a lot about his clothes, and Greg wasn’t that cruel to him.

A smile spread Mycroft’s lips; the kind of smile only Greg witnessed daily. Greg only, and no one else. Of course, there was the usual smirk of contempt or even humour. But no one ever saw him smile like this. It was the one he had reserved for Greg; one of love and fondness. A smile that showed he was happy.

He lightly ran his hand over the back of Greg’s head, letting that short, grey hair of his slide through his fingers. 

‘I just don’t want you to get hurt, Gregory.’

‘I got hurt, anyway.’

‘I mean really hurt. Lethally. You understand very well the kind of hurt I’m talking about. I do not wish to lose you. Will you promise me you’ll be less chivalrous next time?’

‘Fine, fine – I’ll teach Donovan to punch offenders.’  
‘I’m quite sure a woman like Sergeant Donovan is quite able to fend off any of those already.’

Greg chuckled, looking up at Mycroft with a dishevelled grin.

‘Fine – I promise I’ll be more careful.’

Mycroft smiled back, again with that reserved smile, and leans down, cupping Greg’s cheeks between his hands.

‘You better be, Detective Inspector. I would hate to use my contacts to get you transferred to a more – deskbound job.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ Greg chuckled, followed by a pout.

‘If that’s what it takes to keep you out of harm’s way, I will.’


End file.
